


Getting To Yes

by loveslashangst, ophymirage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Vessels, Bodyswap, Castiel in Alternate Vessels, Episode: s05e14 My Bloody Valentine, F/M, Rough Sex, Sex in the Impala
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveslashangst/pseuds/loveslashangst, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophymirage/pseuds/ophymirage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post the events of <span class="u">My Bloody Valentine</span>, Dean is near to breaking point. Cas takes it upon himself to try and relieve Dean's stress levels in a novel fashion. (first in a series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting To Yes

**Author's Note:**

> While we have chosen not to use archive warnings for this fic, PLEASE NOTE: sex in this fic, consensual though it is, is very physically rough (Dean playing in full hunter mode) and may be triggery. 
> 
> If you know violent sex is a trigger point for you, we strongly advise skipping to the next fic on your list. 
> 
> For everyone else, have some predatory!Dean/badass Angel of the Lord. 
> 
> Thanks, LSA and O.

“Yes,” she says. Her heart beats faster, anticipation fizzing like the climb to the top of the first hill on a rollercoaster. “I’ll help you. Who is he?”

The man reaches out again with two fingers to touch her forehead. She leans into the touch, trusting. Images. Memories. A young man. Dean. Winchester. Dean smiling. Dean laughing. Dean praying. Dean fighting. Dean grieving. Weeping. Anger. Violence. Loss. Grief. Anger. Violence. Loss. Grief. Anger. Grief. Anger. Grief. Grief. Betrayal. Grief. Grief. Hopelessness. 

She blinks back stinging tears. “How does he keep going?”

“Dean is very strong,” says the -- she guesses it’s a man, though he claims to be an angel. He’s at least man-shaped, in a long trenchcoat like something off the bargain rack at JC Penny. “He survives when others do not and cannot. He hunts things that other humans can’t deal with.”

She closes her eyes, trying to make sense of what he’s shown her. “Like a superhero?”

“In a manner of speaking.” The man -- angel -- whatever -- no longer seems even half as nuts as he did a minute ago when he touched her forehead and took away the pain in her back. For the first time since she’d survived the car accident, she’s not thinking of ways to shift her weight so the spasms don’t twinge.

His friend’s name is Dean, and he’s in pain too. “So what’s the plan?” she asks.

“You saw a little of what he’s been through,” says the guy. “What’s missing in his life?”

“Sanity?” she says.

A faint smile. “That too. I was going more for love.”

Another young man. Taller. More serious. The one who hurts him. “His brother…”

“Sam is problematic,” says the man. “Every relationship Dean has is problematic. I need for him to stronger than he’s ever been. Right now, he’s very close to his breaking point. He needs a respite I can’t give him in this body.” 

That’s… either very sweet or slightly disturbing. She looks at him carefully and sees only honest concern. “Okay. How can I…?”

“Baby steps,” says the man. He glances down. “Helping Dean is very difficult. It requires finesse I often lack.”

“And you think I have?” she says.

“I hope you have it,” says the man, still avoiding her eyes. “Or I've just been very indiscreet for no good reason.”

“You could get in trouble.”

He nods. “Dean needs to know love. Of all my Father’s creations, he’s most deserving, and yet he won’t accept it.”

Whatever this guy is, he’s in love with Dean. She actually feels kinda stupid that it took her this long to get a clue. “So what do we do?”

“We?” The guy has the rumpled, wary look of a kid who’s gotten so used to being picked last that he doesn't even bother listening to the team rosters anymore.

“We.” It makes her heart hurt in a good way. “I want to help.”

The faintest hint of a smile. It does gorgeous things to the guy’s eyes, which are a shade of blue she’s never seen, even in the sharp shadows and harsh light of the back alley. “This is voluntary,” he says seriously. “If you want to stop, we stop. I won’t do anything against your will.”

“I already said yes,” she says. “But do we need… I dunno… a safeword or something?”

“I don’t know what that is,” he says, “but if you think it’s a good idea, I’ll accept your judgment.”

“A safeword just means that if you or I want to stop, we say a word.” Weirdly enough, explaining this makes her feel calmer. “The word should be something you’d never say in the middle of… um, anything. It’s so I’ll know that you’re not okay or you’ll know that I’m not okay. Then everything stops, no harm, no foul.”

“I understand,” says the man. He thinks for a moment, then intones a string of nonsense: “CHDR BVTMON.”

She shakes her head no. “That’s - that’s not even real words. What are you -- Look. How about --- I’ve used ‘pineapple’ before.”

“Pineapple,” the man repeats it as if testing it. “I can remember that.”

And then he’s gone.

Light. Light pure and white and shining and so intense that she… Burning. She’s burning!

“Pineapple!” she gasps through parched lips.

The light’s gone. The man stands before her, looking alarmed. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

“Singed,” she says. “I thought angels were clouds and feathers.”

“I’m a seraph,” he says. “We’re more flames and swords. I’m sorry.”

“Did you burn the guy you’re in?” she asks.

“No,” he says. “But he’s not in control the way you will be. It requires finesse.”

“I thought you didn't have finesse.” She’s mostly only teasing.

“I want to learn.” He takes a deep breath. “May I try again? I’ll be more careful.” 

Nodding, she closes her eyes and braces herself for more pain. But this time the light envelops her gently. It fills her eyes. Flows through ears and nose, rippling along her skin. The divine wind surges into the deepest places of her body and soul, leaving her breathless and shivering.

The voice is a low vibration in her mind. _Can you move your hands?_

She clenches and unclenches her fists, first right, then left. A slight shift, and then she’s watching her hands move on their own. A faint push forward, and she’s in full control. “That’s really weird. Cool, but weird.”

 _It’s strange for me too,_ says the faint whisper in her mind.

They shift back and forth a few times, testing the body and voice they now share. Eventually, she gets the hang of the silent communication. _So what happened to the guy you were in before?_

 _He’s safe._ The reply is easier now as the angel relaxes more into their body. _He’ll be unconscious until I return. He wants to help, but isn’t the right vessel for this mission._

 _And I am._ Her whole body feels lighter. Stronger. Coiled, like an athlete waiting for the starting pistol to fire.

 _More so than I realized._ She can feel the compliment, the warmth of his gratitude in her mind. _I’ll follow your lead._

 _Good,_ she replies, directing their body back into the bar. _I’ll let you know when._

X.X.X.X.X.X

Dean hadn't really given this chick much attention before. Bars are easy pickings for him; he learned the game and the cues even before he was old enough to legally drink. He loves the girls who know what they want, so he usually starts by casting his net wide until the right one comes to him. A drink or two, some sexy banter, and then he waits for her to signal that she’s good to go. Some girls want charming confidence. Some want winsome apple-pie smiles and vulnerable eyes. The really luscious ones want danger and unpredictability. But regardless of the spice, a little straight-up conversation is almost always enough to clinch the deal.

So why this chick? At first, he wrote her off. She walked with a limp and smiled like she was hurting.

Hurting is usually the opposite of sexy, because people who are hurting are NOT looking for a good time. Dean’s cool with being a replacement, a cheat, or a target -- someone else’s emotional damage is their own problem -- but actual physical damage…?

Physical damage means no dice. If he or the girl twists into the wrong sutra position or whatever, suddenly it’ll be ice packs and muscle relaxants and chamomile tea, and he might as well apply the ice pack straight to his balls at that point, because no one’s going to have a good time. Of course, he’ll stay and take care of the girl -- okay, he’s not as girly as Sammy, but he’s also not an insensitive jerk -- but it’ll kinda shoot his night all to hell.

So when the girl comes back after being out there for at least an hour, he wonders if she took something. Always possible she had some doobage on her, though she doesn't look stoned. Whatever happened, she’s obviously feeling better. Healthier. Looser muscles, maybe. Hell if he can pin down what’s different, but the swing in her hips definitely has his attention now.

She’s dark-haired, petite, and has a slight tilt to the eyes and point to the chin that makes her look like she’s right off the June 2007 cover of his favorite reading material. Those pretty curves spilling out of her tight top are another two points in her favor. Her super-blue eyes -- how did he not notice those before? -- flick quickly around the bar, like she’s looking for something.

And the gods of poontang are with him tonight, because she catches his eyes. Gives him a slow, sultry up-and-down like he hasn’t seen since Pamela wanted to eat him for lunch.

The girl turns her back on him and heads for a booth that’s kind of secluded.

He glances around and -- seeing no immediate competition -- takes the hint, and his brew, over to where Miss Flirtation is seated.

But Dean is also not stupid; he knows a possible honey-trap when he sees one. He tucks his free hand into his jeans pocket, where the holy-water-soaked Kleenex is. A little how-do-you-do should set his mind at ease.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” She looks up at him through long, dark lashes. Blue eyes and black hair -- he’s been jonesing for a girl like this.

He’d love it if a girl ever took the sudden boner as a compliment, but that never happens. Dean sits before she can notice the wood he’s now sporting. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not sure yet,” she says with another sexy, sidelong glance. “I hardly know you.”

He tips his bottle in salutation to her, offering his best charming smile. “Dean,” he says, resting the holy-water-treated hand loose and easy on the table.

She gazes at the subtle offering, smirking at some private joke, and then slips her fingers into his. “Call me ‘Grace’.”

“Pretty name,” he says. He clasps the hand briefly. No smoke. No black eyes. Life is pretty damn good. Her finger brushes the ring on his little finger. No bad reaction to the silver. Thank fucking God. Or thank the god of fucking; whatever works. “So what are you drinking?”

“What are you buying?” She trails fingertips along the edge of his hand. It’s a tiny thing, but really does get his attention from head to toe and everywhere in between.

He supposes he ordered something, because the waitress comes by a minute later and drops off two bottles. Honestly, he doesn’t remember because the girl across from him -- Grace -- has the most amazing shade of blue eyes.

Grace raises the bottle to her lips. The tip of her tongue darts out, a flash of a lick. Her lips slowly enclose the mouth of the bottle. She tips it back. Swallows once. Twice. Three times.

Dean’s dick is pretty sure this is the hottest girl in the universe.

He glances down at his own bottle so he won’t be tempted to just stare like a crazy person. “So. You been here before?”

She lowers her bottle, shaking her head no. Her tongue darts out again to lick a bit of foam from her upper lip. “My first time.”

He very strongly doubts that. Okay. Conversation is the surest way to snatch defeat from the jaws of oh-my-god-I’m-so-going-to-hit-that. “Mine too,” he confides. “You, uh, wanna get out of here?”

“Depends,” she says.

Dean’s dick bobs in time with the swallows as Grace drinks again. He knows better than to prompt her; even if he’d gladly just drop trou and let her climb on right here, a wise man knows when to let the lady take her time.

“Where are we going?” She sets the bottle down.

Sam will be back at the hotel room, so that’s out. The back of the Impala is really only good if you’re a horny teenager or it’s the end of the world and you can’t exactly rent a room. 

“You have a car?” she asks.

It actually catches him off guard. “A car?”

She smiles confidingly. “You look like the kind of guy who has an awesome ride with a big back seat.”

He blinks, hitting a whole new level of turned-on. “Chevy Impala,” he says. “1967.” He smiles at her, revving up his mojo at the thought of christening Baby again. “You want a ride in the back?”

“The question is…” She tips the bottle back one final time. “Do you?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” 

Some days, a guy just gets lucky. He catches his hand at the back of her neck, loving the silken slide of her dark hair, and kisses her.

It’s hot and wet and now she’s in his lap. She cradles his head in her hands and her mouth moves with his. Lips. Tongue. Breath. All in sync, like she’s been looking for him as much as he’s been looking for her. When she grinds down onto him, he moans into her mouth, hoping to hell this isn't just another fucking wet dream.

She pulls away first. Looks down at him. And there’s something in those eyes, startled and wary, like she’s done something that’s shocked her too.

“It’s okay, baby.” He slides his hands up her back. “That’s just perfect.”

She smiles at him with a sweet, shy radiance. The kiss is almost chaste, a simple pressing of lips. Then she opens her mouth, just a little. He follows her lead, slow at first, then working them both up to deeper and deeper kisses. Before long the throb at his groin is a constant pulse and he’s pretty sure he’s dripping. He reaches a hand down between them. Cups her pussy through those tight, tight jeans.

She’s damp and hot and this is SO what he needs right now. He rocks his hand, guessing where her clit is.

He must've been right. She gasps, head thrown back, eyes wide and startled. Then she looks down at him with the perfect kind of hunger.

He kisses her fiercely, massaging just enough to keep her attention, but not hard enough to chafe.

He has plans for her pussy, after all.

She kisses and licks her way over to his ear. “You taste salty. Mmm. Wonderful.”

“So do you.” She grinds down onto him again. His hands tighten at her hips as he fights to keep his self-control. “You ready to go, Grace?”

“Yes, Dean,” she breathes. She kisses him, hard and searching, like she wants to taste him soul deep.

Very, very gently, he pulls back, even more subtly pressing her away.

“Sorry.” Eyes averted and self-conscious, she gets off him.

He stands, pulling her close. He tips her chin up and looks into those pretty blue eyes. “Don’t be.”

She stretches up to kiss him. It’s the contradictions that have him wanting to fuck her senseless. He returns the kiss with interest. Throws down too much money on the table and takes her hand.

She looks at their joined hands. Her sexy smile relieves any doubt that his night is going to be very, very hot. He leads her out of the bar.

X.X.X.X.X.X

She can feel everything. The kisses. The touches. Exactly how hot Dean is making her body. She’s starting to see why the angel’s so fixated on this man.

Dean unlocks the door to the car.

The angel is nervous, a vibration that’s equal parts terror and anticipation. He wants to be part of Dean, and yet he’s not sure whether this will work the way he’s planning.

She reassures him gently. Communicating without words was alien and strange at first, but she’s getting the hang of it.

His gratitude washes through her, warm and light.

Dean kisses them. The angel kisses back, and she enjoys every sensation. Dean’s stroking their back, their arms, cupping their ass through their jeans.

She visualizes what the angel should do next.

Dean’s breathing speeds a little when they unbutton his shirt. Slide it down his arms. Struggle a little to get it over his hands. Laugh with him at the moment of awkwardness.

Their own breath catches when Dean strips off their little black top, tossing it onto the front seat.

She reassures the angel, as Dean takes off their bra too.

Dean cups their breasts, smiling at their weight in his hands. “Damn, baby. You’re gorgeous.”

“So are you,” says the angel through her voice.

They kiss Dean some more. And some more after that. The angel is distracted, completely lost in the overwhelming sensations of Dean’s mouth, Dean’s hand on their breast. 

When Dean moves that (amazing) mouth to their other breast, the angel yelps, loud and startled, and their knees buckle. She’s about to take over, push them back up into those kisses. Dean just snorts with laughter, and follows them down, laying them out easy on that huge back seat. 

He is hard and hot and big against their thigh, and she _wants_ , but the angel doesn't seem to know what to do next. She takes control enough to fumble the jeans open. She reaches inside. Grins at what she finds. _Oh, you should've mentioned this earlier, angel-man. If you ever do this again? This is your opening pitch, right here..._

Dean gasps and bites into their shoulder, as they shuck his jeans over his hips and that perfect ass. She tries to shuck her own jeans, remembers she’s still got shoes on. “Hang on,” she says, “I need -- shoes.” 

Dean nods, kneels up and out of her way. “Want me? --“ 

“Can those big old hands undo these?” She waggles her favorite little strappy high heel in his face. 

Dean turns her foot one way, then the other, clearly trying to see the buckles in the dark. “I, uh, you better handle this one,” he says. 

There’s a brief awkward flurry as she and the angel try to figure out how to remove the rest of their clothes. _You've really never done this before, have you?_ she says. _If it would be easier, you can step back, and I can finish this for you._

“You okay?” Dean says.

She waits for the angel to choose. After a long moment, she feels him step forward. 

“Yes, Dean,” says the angel through her mouth. “I’m very okay.”

X.X.X.X.X.X

When Dean was younger, he’d get to this point, happily shove his dick in, and try to last long enough so the girl could come. But he’s not a kid anymore, and he’s learned that no matter how much his dick thinks they’re ready to fuck, more foreplay is always better.

Besides, the delicious smell of Grace’s pussy is driving him crazy.

So he kisses her, long and slow. Gets her moving her mouth perfectly in time with his. And he brushes his fingers down her shoulder. Over her breast. Down her belly. Pauses at the soft patch of hair, trimmed sexy and short.

Moaning, she parts her legs, encouraging him.

He slides two fingers into that slippery heaven. Kisses her, tongue probing deeply. Swallows her low cries. 

She’s wide open for him.

He cups her, curling his fingers up and in. She’s gasping. She looks at him as if she can’t believe what’s he’s doing to her. Or how much she likes it.

He feels kinda bad for her -- too many guys don’t know how to do right by a girl.

“Dean,” her moan is rich and throaty. It goes straight to his dick.

“Grace,” he breathes the name into the skin of her neck, and then nips and nibbles along her jaw, rocking his hand in time to her breathing.

“Dean!” Stronger now, like she’s gotten used to saying his name. He kinda digs that.

“Oh, yeah.” She’s soaking his hand. “Yeah, Grace. Yeah.” He is so going down on her in another minute.

“Dean! I can’t…!”

“Don’t hold back, baby,” he purrs. “Let it go. Let it all go.”

“Dean!” She’s pushing her pussy into his hand now. Her arms are relentless around his shoulders, her head thrown back. “Dean, please!”

He kisses his way over to her ear. “Come for me, baby. Come.”

She cracks her head on the window, but doesn't seem to notice. Her shriek of pleasure is loud in the enclosed space.

And then she goes boneless and disheveled. Dean locks his eyes with hers and withdraws his fingers. She gives a long, shuddering sigh.

He brings his fingers to his mouth. Sucks them clean.

She smiles dazedly.

He lies back on the seat. “Come here.”

She giggles at her own lack of coordination. He maneuvers her so that delicious pussy is right above his mouth. Pulls her down to taste. Tongues her deep. Sucks hard on that swollen clit.

Her hands flail, looking for something to hold onto. After a moment, she finds her own breasts. Man, it’s hotter than fuck to see her squeezing them, pinching the nipples, pressing them together.

When she opens her eyes and looks down at him, he can’t help but reach for his dick. Hard? Oh hell yeah, he’s ready for action.

“Do you want…?” she says, panting. “To fuck me?”

He could think of about six comebacks, but he’s got a mouthful of glorious cunt, so instead he carefully but firmly pulls her off of him. “Ride me, baby.”

She looks puzzled for a moment, like she doesn't know what he means, and then she grins. She slides down to straddle him. He guides his dick in and hisses in sweet satisfaction as hot wetness engulfs him.

“Dean,” she says. “I don’t know if I can move right.”

“Then let me drive.” He grabs her hips and rocks up into her.

She moans. Gasps. Makes all the right noises.

“Good, baby?” he says.

She nods, eyes closed, and reaches out for him blindly. He guides her hands to his shoulders, bracing one foot against the edge of the seat. He grinds up into her. Moves with her body. 

She bends low. Breathes with him. Opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his. It’s way too intimate. He wraps an arm around her. Rolls them over carefully. Pulls her knee up. Fucks her with long, leisurely strokes.

She drags her fingers through his hair. “Dean.”

“Grace,” he says. “You’re amazing, baby.”

“So are you.” She’s smiling and gorgeous.

It’s his favorite kind of sex, where the sweat is watery and slick between them and where there’s no room left for words. He holds out as long as he can, loving every astonished moan, gasp, and cry. She’s never had anyone this good -- of that he’s sure -- and it’s doing wonders for his ego and his staying power.

But nothing lasts forever. She comes bucking beneath him and it throws him over the edge.

X.X.X.X.X.X

The angel isn't tired; he’s buzzing and incandescent. Filled with his energy, she can’t be tired either. Instead, they just hold their lover.

 _Dean appears to still be unconscious,_ says the angel. _Should this be a matter for concern?_

_Yeah, that happens to a lot of guys after sex, especially if it’s really good sex. And that was really good sex. I mean, really, **really** good… um. No, don’t be worried, he’ll be fine probably in a few minutes. Maybe half an hour._

_So we… did this right? I confess I’m less than experienced in this aspect of humanity._

_You mean you’re a virgin -- were a virgin._

_Exactly. And Dean is… very familiar… with sex._

_I think you did fantastic._ This conversation is getting weird, but they’re so far out of ‘normal’ territory already that weird has stopped being relevant. _Most people aren't that athletic their first time out._

His concern tinges the warm glow with a slight sharp edge. _So I should have done things differently?_

She considers for a moment. _Dean does one-night-stands a lot, right?_

The warmth is now attentive, a sort of interested thrum. _Frequently, yes._

_So if your goal is to show him a good time and help him relax, I think it’s safe to say we did that. But if you really want to de-stress him and make him feel incredible, I think we’ll have to dig deeper into his fantasies._

_So we should do this again?_ She’s practically gleeful when she senses his excitement at the idea, since that was definitely one of the best fucks she’s ever had, and if he was a virgin for it… well, just, damn. 

_Yes,_ she says. _But this time, it should be - um. It shouldn't just be a vanilla fuck, we need to find what really does it for him._

_What does what for him?_

_**It,**_ she says, struggling. _The it that turns him on, and turns him on so hard he’s panting just thinking about it._ Is there a  Cosmo for angels and their superhero boyfriends? If so, she’s got the advice-to-the-lovelorn column locked down … 

_The only time Dean is panting is during a hunt._

_Sorry, we are not shooting Bambi, even if it is a turn-on._

_I don’t understand that reference._

_Nevermind. It’s not important. Look - what does he like about hunting?_

She can feel the hum of the angel’s thought process - like a computer searching through indexed files. _The chase,_ the angel says after a pause. _I think I understand now. Last time, we let him pursue us, but were too quick to give in. If we were harder to catch, he’d have to chase us more and that would “do it” for him?_

She grins, hugging a snoozing Dean more tightly. _Now you’re talking. Step one is waking him up enough to get to my house._

The angel gently takes over and kisses Dean awake. “I think we should take you home.” 

Dean perks right up. “Whose home?” She slides back into control of their body and gives Dean a slow, sexy smile. 

As soon as Dean pulls the car into the parking spot below her apartment, the air between her body and Dean’s crackles with anticipation and want. 

The angel takes control of their body. 

She’s more than happy to let him. 

X.X.X.X.X.X

The angel nearly dives out of the car, grabbing Dean’s hand as soon as he’s on his feet. Pulls him to the entryway of the apartment. Listens carefully while she gives him the code. 

But the second the door to the entry hall is shut, the angel is kissing Dean with fierce, hungry bites. And Dean catches fire, responding to the assault. He shoves the angel against the wall, pinning him there. 

She shudders with the angel when Dean presses a knee between their legs. The kiss is more teeth than lips now, and the angel wrenches aside Dean’s collar so he can mark his neck. 

Dean moans in the back of his throat. “Oh, baby. I am gonna screw the hell out of you.” 

The angel digs their fingers into Dean’s hair. Pulls his head back sharply. Whispers fiercely in his ear. “You can try.” 

Dean shivers. He slides one big hand down their thigh. Pushes their knee up and out. Leans in, rubbing the hot length of his dick against their belly. “I will fuck you.” 

“You’ll have to catch me first.” The angel ducks, and somehow slips sideways _fast_ under Dean’s braced arm. He takes off running. 

She’s already telling the angel how to find her apartment. 

Dean chases them up the stairs. She and the angel are laughing at the game. At the thrill of the chase. At the thought of Dean inside them again. 

She takes control just long enough to get the door open, but it’s the angel who turns to catch Dean. Dean forces them inside. Kicks the door shut. Rides the angel down to the ground. Pins their wrists above their head. 

Dean smirks against their lips. “I caught you.” 

X.X.X.X.X.X

Grace’s eyes flash with sexy fire. “Did you, Dean?” She arches her hips up between them and suddenly Dean’s on his back, wondering how she threw him.

But he’s not about to let her go that easily. He catches her foot and pins her again.

He gets distracted for a minute watching her tits bounce beneath her shirt as she gasps. God DAMN this woman has a nice rack. 

Her eyes challenge him when he looks up again. “The safeword is ‘pineapple’.”

He goes from pretty hard to rock hard. “Pineapple,” he repeats. “Got it.”

She twists beneath him, throws him off her again. Scrambles behind the couch, shedding her shirt and bra as she goes.

Teeth bared, he rips off his own shirt and chases her. He catches her as she tries to dive over the sofa drags her back down, drops his full weight onto her, and kisses her as hard and biting as she kissed him downstairs.

She growls into his mouth. Strains against his body. Wraps her arms and legs around him and pulls him downward. .

He braces one foot to keep her from rolling them off the couch. Forces her hands up above her head. Holds them both in one of his. He bends to suck all the heat from her skin, marking that lovely tanned throat. She’ll have to wear turtlenecks for a week.

But when he reaches for his fly, she gets a hand free. Grabs him by the throat. Pushes him up and back and then rides him back down to the floor.

Oh, this bitch is going down. No way he’s letting her drive again. He catches the waistband of her jeans. She hasn’t fastened them, thank God, so when she pulls away, he lets the movement pull the denim low, tripping her sideways. He yanks her panties down as she goes over. She actually swings at him, but a lifetime of fighting guides him. He dodges on his knees, unzipping his own fly and dragging his jeans over his ass just far enough to get his dick free. 

She kicks her own feet free of jeans and panties, dives forward and tries to wrap a leg around him to throw him again. He gets his elbow under her other knee, drops her onto her back, and slides his dick against her once, twice. She’s twisting and writhing and fucking _growling_ in his ear, and she’s so fucking wet and slick he can hardly get into her. 

He pulls her ass up hard against him, grinds down against her clit, and thrusts home. They both cry out. And it’s good, oh holy fuck, it’s good. 

She struggles. He begins to thrust. And she’s moaning and cursing him, even as her heels slide down his back and her knees bow open. Her cunt is slick and hot and throbbing.

He lets go of her wrists, propping himself up with one hand so he can tip her hips just right.

“OH DEAN OH PLEASE!” She comes hard, shuddering and bucking. Grinning, he fucks her harder, losing himself in the heat and wet and animal slide of his dick inside her.

The sharp pain at his back only makes him shiver in pleasure. She marks him with her nails, scratching deep. Her heels have hooked under his ass and she’s pulling him, urging him to plunge deeper and deeper.

He kneels up until she’s gloriously spread before him, back arched. She comes again, arms above her head, her hair a fan of black silk. He thrusts, slow and hard, and loves the way her breasts bounce. And he loses himself, pounding his way to an orgasm so good it almost hurts.

X.X.X.X.X.X

They catch Dean after he comes. Ease him down to the floor. She pulls the throw off the couch and wraps them up. Dean’s shoulder is firm under their ear. His breathing is still ragged and stuttering. When they look, he’s smiling.

As his breath slows, his body relaxes into sleep.

 _He’s very relaxed now._ The angel sounds satisfied. _What should our next step be?_

 _Shower,_ They head to the bathroom to wash up. He fixes the bruises she wants fixed, but agrees that she should keep the mark on her neck.

She wishes she could kiss him goodbye.

And then he’s there in the room with her and her mind is her own again. She’s alone in her body. And for a moment, she misses him keenly.

He holds out a robe for her, averting his eyes like a gentleman.

“Thanks,” she says. Her whole body is tingling and alive and good.

“Thank you,” he says, his deep blue eyes sincere. He offers her a hand.

She takes it and shakes it. “Will I see you again?”

The angel shrugs. “That depends on Dean. He’s a drifter, so it’s unlikely that he’ll be back through here again.”

“So you’re leaving.” She knew it, and yet it’s still bittersweet.

He nods.

“Would you mind?” she says, hoping she’s not going to offend him, “If I…? When he wakes…?”

A half-smile. “I would if I were you.”

She gives him a full smile. “Thank you. For everything.”

He catches a hand at the nape of her neck and presses a chaste kiss to the center of her forehead. The moment seems to last forever, a whole universe of emotion and expression in the simple touch of lips to skin. 

His eyes are warm when they part, and there’s a bit of happiness where there was only loneliness before. “If you pray for my assistance, I will answer.”

“Thanks.” She really hopes that someday, he’ll get to do this for real.

And then he’s gone.

She’s very glad she said yes.


End file.
